StilesSide
by tweekthetwitch13
Summary: TeenWolfMTV-verse; Stiles has another late night folklore study session and is interrupted by a blue eyed werewolf. In attempts to not have his throat removed by force, they come to a certain understanding. Friendship, mildromance if you look for it.
1. Chapter 1

Teen Wolf is one of those shows that I honestly feel a bit bad for liking, but will still defend.

I think this counts more as a friendship piece, with a very slight hint of gayness (which could be said for the show itself, truth be told...)

Hint wise, it would be very mild Derek/Stiles, but again I like to see it more as them kind of getting along. They were almost there in the last episode, but not quite. By the end of the season I could see them actually being friendly. Derek has a kind of...dark ..unintentional humor that I think Stiles plays off of well.

Anyway, most of this is completely...well I sort of made up a backstory for Stiles. Which I'm sure will turn out NOT to be true, so right now I'm just fucking around. Anyway. Disclaimer: I own no characters, story or anything mentioned. I am not making money off of it.

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><p>Scott was out with Allison Argent again, on yet another double date with Lydia and ...<em>Jackson.<em>

Stiles shook his head free of thoughts of love lives and certain douche-bag lacrosse players. Of course his mind had a mind of it's very own and rarely listened to the other, and his thoughts continued.

Hadn't Scott _not_ wanted to waste more precious macking time on double dates with the other couple? Lord knows it probably wasn't actually Scott's idea in the first place, that boy tended to just go along with things, and who wouldn't if it meant a chance of getting to more than one base just for being a 'good boyfriend'.

What kind of name was Argent anyway?

_Silver_, really? Could they be anymore obvious?

Stiles looked down at his left hand to see it tapping the pen he had been holding viciously against the table he had been working on before his thoughts drifted to matters of less importance.

"Ugh, no more Adderall for me tonight..." He tossed the pen against the wall, and watched it roll back towards him over the papers askew on his desk.

He was doing his rightly best friend duties again and researching everything he could get his hands on to do with Werewolves and ancient legend.

Sometimes he wondered why the legends hadn't claimed more credence over the centuries. The legend was almost universally accepted in legends and folklore, which wasn't all that common with other myths and legends until travel and transport was more accessible.

Ancient Greece...Ancient Japan...Ancient Native America...Not to mention pockets of similar legends throughout pockets of pretty much every place that has ever had people or a wolf presence.

He supposed those individuals that thought nothing of it, attributed the legends to nothing more than a hold over of the 'big bad wolf' stories. Yet stories of individuals turning into other predators were far more rare, even though the animals had a similar spread...big cats, bears... Yet there was rarely a big bad were-bear, outside of suspect areas of San Fransico.

But ignoring the basic legend itself, it was far more difficult to tell fact from fiction from there on...

Stiles may have had a living breathing werewolf as a best buddy, but since Scott knew nothing...and was currently out canoodling with his girlfriend he wasn't much of a help. There might have been one other person he could turn to...but...Stiles valued his own life enough to cross off that possibility.

Stiles made a face to the empty room, to his strewn papers and books. Why was it that HE was the one doing all of the work, and the investigating? Why did it have to come down to him, and a healthy helping of semi-addictive medication to actually look up what could be a life or death situation ...when it wasn't even his life on the line.

He huffed out loud, "I am _such_ a better friend than Scott is...He's lucky to have me."

"I think that greatly depends on what your definition of luck is."

Okay, presumably empty room that was.

Stiles jerked backwards while simultaneously trying to spin around in his chair. His chair, however did not have a back to it, nor was he properly balanced in the first place which ended with him toppling out and onto his ass.

"What is _wrong with you_?" He hissed out loudly, Stiles didn't need to actually turn around to guess who the speaker was. There was only one person in their stupid town that was stalker-y enough to actually be able to sneak into his room unannounced and then proceed to make a shitty little comment.

This figure looked more menacing than usual when he was lit by nothing but the small wal-mart lamp Stile's had on his desk.

Derek crossed his legs from where he was leaning up against his bedroom wall. His look changed very rarely. For someone who seemingly acted like he put no care into what people thought about him, he had a very obvious style. Dark clothes, tight fit tee shirts and jeans...hair that most certainly had to have some sort of product in it. Though Stiles didn't cross off the possibility of wolfspit as an adhesive.

"Okay, I know what's _wrong_ with you, but why the hell are you in my room? Don't you have some maiden to kidnap...or some house to haunt. You know. Like your own creepy ass house?" Stiles stood as quickly as he could and glanced around for some kind of weapon, just in case. The last time his throat had been threatened by the mysterious wolf was the first and only time he needed to be warned that this individual was dangerous. Even if he _didn't _have super awesome wolf powers, he was still a good few inches taller than him, not to mention more muscular.

This was a person that could theoretically lung forward and rip out his windpipe before Stiles so much as said 'eep'.

Sadly enough, for having a father that happened to be a police chief, Stiles had a sad lack of weapons in his house. Unless he wanted to toss, 'Legends and Folklore; A How To.' at the wolfs head. Something that was not a good idea when werewolves seemed to transform when they got pissed off, plausibly by something as small as having a book flung at their skul.

"Scott's a fool in continuing to seek a relationship with that girl."

Well that answered _none_ of his questions. Stiles huffed in exasperation, physical threat or not, Derek was dangerous to his sanity.

"You don't have to tell me that...wait you know what, screw you! Scott doesn't have to live the rest of his life in a stupid little shack...brooding away the minutes until he can creep into someone's bedroom!"

Stiles palmed the desk for the book anyway.

"You're loud. I don't like that." Derek's facial expressions changed about as much as a boulder's did.

Stiles' eyebrows rose and he shook his head slightly in disbelief before attempting to collect his thoughts.

"Why. Are. You. Here? If you're so concerned with your new little wolf friend Scott, then go get him boy! Fetch! That'sa good boy, fetch!"

A single eyebrow rose. Stiles bit his lip, okay so he may have collected a certain assortment of thoughts, but they were less than helpful ones. Something that was all too common in Stile's life.

" You're doing research on lycanthropy to help Scott. I need to know what you think you know so I can correct you."

Okay, that was kind of an answer. A dickish one, but one none the less. Stiles crossed his arms, book in hand still.

"I'll have you know I'm one of the smartest kids in school. A's all the way around."

"You have a drug habit at 17 . You've snuck into more than one crime scene. You seem to feel the need to annoy me at every turn, regardless of the fact I could crush your skull in my palm. I'm fairly certain that _doesn't_ qualify as intelligence."

Derek effortlessly and smoothly pushed himself off the wall and started to walk towards Stiles. Stiles was already not pleased, and was rather put off at the idea that the wolf knew enough about his life to know he popped adderall like tic-tacs..so he may have not made the best move on the planet.

Stiles threw his only defense, albeit a bad one, his book. Derek caught it in mid air, _of course_, and looked down at it.

"I've read this. It's got some things right." He moved forward and sat on the side of the desk. Stiles was backtracking as far as he could until he bumped into the side of his own bed.

"I'm not surprised you're a sheriff's son...You found the trail of something, and now you're staying up until dawn looking up leads."

_That_ surprised Stiles. No one ever thought he was anything like his father. His dad who was serious, and calm and collected. Never said anything out of turn and rarely made a wrong move.

And, he would have never thought he'd be complimented by Derek Hale. That is, if it was a compliment at all...

"L-like I said...to..myself..when.. I thought I was alone...I'm a good friend. That's all." Derek looked up from the papers, his blue eyes were scanning to fix them on Stiles.

"...I suppose so. You're smarter than Scott anyway."

"That's not saying much is it dude.." Derek smirked a little. That was an affirmative.

"How much do you know about my family?" Derek spoke after a moment of silence.

Stiles debated with himself for a second, before sitting down on his bed. He pondered.

"_Did you hear? The Hale's house burned up...with most of the family inside." _

"_That's just horrible! Do they know what caused it?"_

"_No, there's not sufficient enough evidence to tell. Some people have suggested the son, Derek Hale, but no one knows for sure. I've met him once in the past, troubled boy, I wouldn't put it past him though.."_

"_What's going to happen to him and the other survivors?"_

"_Don't know. They're all over 18, so it's not like we can call in child services. I've heard they're leaving town though."_

"_It's still so tragic though...being there while your family dies I can't even imagin-...Oh. oh..Hi Stiles...why don't you go to the conference room, your dad's in there."_

_Stiles was 11 at the time, standing by himself in the Police Department. He ran a hand through his short hair and nodded at the secretary._

_Wasn't it unprofessional to talk about cases in the open? _

_He knew those ladies had stopped talking when they noticed him, not because they cared if someone heard them but because they knew the Stilinski family had it's own skeleton in the closet.._

_Stiles had been 9 years old when he saw his mother shot, and bleed out._

_He paused for a moment in the hallway._

_'I bet seeing all of your family die in a fire would be even worse...'_

"Stiles."

Stiles jerked his head up, having lost himself to memory, barely registering the fact Derek had actually spoken his name.

Derek was looking at him oddly. Oddlier than usual anyway...

"Uh..I heard about some of it when I was younger in the police department...chatty secretaries. They just said what they knew I guess. Your name, and that pretty much everyone died with no leads... That's all."

Stiles shook his head, not so great memories flooding his head.

He had made friends with Scott just a year after that. Scott's father had died just before he was born, in Afghanistan during Desert Storm. His mom had previously been a medic in the army and that's how they had met. She was honorably discharged when they discovered she was pregnant and then received benefits after the death of her husband.

Scott and Stiles bonded pretty quickly, they were both a bit quirky and had lost parents...and were a far cry from being popular.

Derek paused, he didn't seem entirely upset. Which was good. Angry werewolf meant dead Stiles.

"Tell me what you think you know about werewolves and I'll correct you." Stiles made a face at this, granted he made a lot of faces. They said he was _too_ expressive sometimes.

"Wouldn't it be easier for you to just tell me everything, since you...know...all about it already. Instead of having to redmark everything I say as I say it...?"

"Yes. But it wouldn't be as entertaining."

Stiles tossed his pillow at the older man. It was batted out of the way with ease.

"Ugh, fine your highness...Okay, so when someone is bit and they transfo-"

"Wrong."

"...what. I haven't even said anything, how could I be wrong already?"

"Not all werewolves are bit. Some are born that way. I was born a werewolf, as my mother was one."

"...Cus' baby you were born that way?" Stiles grinned. Derek stared.

"Don't call me baby."

"Right right, forgot. You probably aren't hip to the pop music...you know speaking of which...Do you find me attractive?"

Derek actually managed to form an actual expression here, one of strange bewilderment and confusion that was actually rather amusing on what was likely a mad killer.

"See, there's this gay kid at school. Danny. And he doesn't find me attractive I don't think...or likes me in anyway really...and I know chicks don't dig me...cus'...what guy is still a virgin at my age and is still actually attractive. So I want to know if I appeal to the, you know, Werewolf Americans."

Stiles face was earnest, and not at all kidding.

"...It's.. not a sexuality...And...why don't you just ask Scott" Derek said, still entirely bewildered with eyebrows drawn down.

Stiles shook his head, "No, Scott didn't answer me when I asked him. Plus he's into Allison. Allison _Argent_." His brain still thinking 'Argent. Silver. Dumb.' While desperately trying not to grow contempt for Scott's perfectly nice girlfriend.

"I...I have this urge to bite out your throat right now, but even then somehow I doubt it would shut you up."

Derek actually began to look amused, which was either a really good sign or a really horrible one. Though his dad always did say, if you can get someone to laugh you're usually in the clear.

Stiles laughed, "Probably not. My mom always said I was born making stupid jokes."

Derek's eyebrow cocked, "I've never seen your mother."

Stiles lip twitched downward, mood broken slightly. But he wasn't one to let it show. He never had.

"Ah, yeah. She died...while back."

"How?"

For a moment Stiles wanted to say 'what does it matter to you? Why do you care? What gives you the right to ask?' but then he remembered this was Derek Hale. Someone who had probably seen more hell than he had, and not to mention the fact that it seemed like everyone near him had been thrust into some sort of paranormal conspiracy.

"She was shot. Our car was jacked...she was a deputy at the time, and tried to fight back. They shot her in the stomach and drove off in our car. They found the car, but they never found the guys."

Derek paused for a moment, "You were there with her?"

Stiles nodded.

"Then that's good."

Stiles mouth dropped open. Derek was a cold hearted asshole but that seemed more insensitive than usual,

"She knew you were safe, and died with someone she loved next to her. There are worse ways to die."

Stiles didn't know what to say. Which wasn't rare, but it rarely caused him to actually not speak. His eyes stung a bit, he knew he wasn't crying but it still hurt. He sniffed and nodded. This was Derek Hale speaking, he certainly must have known there were worse ways to die. Like fire..

He never heard the other man move until he sat down next to him on the bed.

"You'll be a valuable part of Scott's pack. Even if you're never turned." Stiles looked up into the sharp blue eyes. Scott's eyes were a burning gold, which seemed to reflect the inner wolf. Derek's eyes were more the cool eyes of a husky or wild dog. More controlled and calm, with just as much of a bite.

"-And I guess you have.. a _sort_ of cute face."

For awhile after Stiles had a hard time controlling his laugher.


	2. Ever After Math

Pretty much every school night of the week, Stiles would find himself exhausted and running his hands across his head while sitting at his desk. His body refused to listen to his brain and his brain refused to listen at all to anything. Schoolwork in general was a piece of cake, but it was getting his thoughts out in a timely and concise manner that was the challenge.

Attention Deficit Disorder was exactly what the named implied, and more often than not Stiles found himself with a large deficit of attention on any given subject. The flip side being when he could soully focus on one thing for huge expanses of time, to the point he lost all senses around him.

This night, much like many others Stiles found himself in a similar situation, at his desk, brain focusing on nothing but racing like a Kentucky Derby winner. He went through all the stages that he normally did; Looking at the desk, to glaring at the desk, to telling himself he HAD to focus, to spinning a pen or pencil absent absentmindedly in his hand, to having said object fly out of his grasp which always shocked him out of his stupor, to spending the next 10 minutes sorting his writing implements by size color and use, to realizing he had just wasted time and focusing back on his task only to end up spinning in his chair 5 minutes later.

If he was doing school work his mind would shift from the subject to various other related subjects to completely unrelated subjects like a possessed man on Wikipedia.

Sometimes, his mind was less pure and he'd start off thinking about physics only to find himself grinning stupidly at absolutely nothing with images of naked individuals, 'uhn'-ing and 'oh god yes'-ing, working their way through his over active imagination.

This night was so much like all the rest. Here he was, in his room, at his desk, mind a scurry after a very long day at school.

Unlike all those other days, he had just gotten home at near 4am.

Unlike those days, he had just witnessed the death of two individuals.

Unlike those days, he had just spent a night in school fleeing for his life from an alpha Werewolf.

Unlike those nights, he spent a few hours being questioned mercilessly by other individuals on the police force than his father.

The janitor was dead, Derek was dead.

Stiles glanced down at his hand, which was shaking even now. It was funny, he hadn't reacted like this _in_ school.

His mind while thick with fear was clear enough to think rationally in survival mode, with fewer horror movie mistakes than he thought he'd make.

Thoughts flitted to Lydia, and her fast acting with the Molotov cocktail. It hadn't worked, but it was certainly fast thinking. There was no mistaking that the girl was smarter than she acted, he mused, but not smart enough to not be attracted to the status power that someone like Jackson possessed. Jackson himself hadn't been much help and neither had Allison.

Scott wasn't much of a help either, regardless of being a werewolf himself.

And speaking of werewolves, the wound on Jackson's neck...Stiles shook his head ridding himself of the thought, it was possible but werewolves healed quickly. There's no way an open wound would have lasted that long on either wolf or human without the aide of a special bullet like the one that had hit Derek.

Derek...

Stiles released a shuddered breath to the quiet room.

Derek was dead. Derek was _dead_.

It seemed impossible, but there was no way even a werewolf could have survived getting a hand through your back. The amount of blood he had spat up, not to mention the blood flowing out of his wound and onto the ground would have been too much to loose. Even with regenerative abilities he would have bled out too quickly.

Stiles rubbed a shaking hand across his face in exhaustion and disbelief, jaw clenched and with a heavy heart. His eyes came to rest on his bed.

It hadn't been more than a week that Derek had been sitting there. Or standing against his wall.

He had just started to realize the man was more alone and awkward than he was a crazed serial killer, even when he would randomly show up in individuals bedrooms. And just as he began to learn more the other mans life had been wiped out...ripped out more like.

As though he hadn't been replaying the night enough in his mind anyway, he looked back onto the moment where Scott had blamed the crimes upon Derek's shoulders.

He remembered the sickening feeling curling through his stomach, his uneasy breaths and reluctance to meet any ones eyes. Blaming the crimes on a friend that had just been viciously murdered?

Derek probably wouldn't want to be called a friend. Probably never even _had_ a friend.

Using Derek Hale as an excuse however was the most logical path, he had thought at the time. Stiles was smarter than Scott the police found Derek's body and time of death found, his innocence would be proven. The only ones that would be held accountable would be himself and Scott who claimed they had seen Derek commit the acts, but that could be easily passed off as a mistake caused by fear or shock at night where visibility would have been poor.

So, he supported Scott's claims, even though at the time he was thinking it would be smarter to tell Allison, Lydia and Jackson the truth.

If they had all been cut down by the beast, wouldn't it have been more fair to let them know what they were about to be killed by? But, lycanthropy was Scott's cross to bare not his own, so he went along with it.

Still.

Stiles had been so sure he was going to be killed, it wasn't even funny.

'I'm not dying in _school_!' he had said.

He never said anything about not dying in general.

Stiles rested his chin in his palm. His brain was desperately trying to come to terms with everything that had happened, which was saying something as he had a fairly high shock level. His emotions were a different story, he felt like he wanted to curl into a ball in his closet and shake and cry until all of this was over. His body just wanted to fall onto his bed and sleep and sleep until he couldn't sleep any more.

But there were so many things left unfinished and unanswered.

He had been so certain they'd find Derek and the janitors body, and all would be set right. Or at least, Derek would see innocence even if it was in death. The possibility of the alpha removing the bodies hadn't crossed his mind.

Carrying off a kill was animalistic, which the alpha most certainly was. But he was also intelligent enough to know to rip the battery out of Stiles' jeep and to use the ceiling vents as a way to get around. Which begged the question; Did the Alpha remove Derek's body and the janitors body as a wolf thing, or to set them up?

If it was the later, it had worked to a certain degree. Scott wasn't lying when he sensed Stiles' father didn't quite believe him. Stiles could tell the emotions across his dads face, it was all true. But his father wasn't stupid enough to completely rule out what they had claimed, even if it was a lie and Scott and Stiles knew it.

The blood from the janitor in the locker room, and in the gym would have still been proof of some sort of attack, the police would eventually pick up on that.

But did any of it really matter at this point?

Stiles licked his own dry lips, not noticing his leg bouncing in a jittery nervous tick.

Derek was dead, and an alpha was on the loose with no leads as to his identity. An alpha that wanted Scott to kill his current 'pack' to join with the beast instead, an alpha that almost succeded.

Scott and Derek might have posed a threat to the alpha, after Scott had been trained.

But...Derek was dead, and there was no one to teach him the werewolf way. Stiles might have been semi-successful in getting the other boy to control his rage, but he'd be no help in getting him to take down a smart alpha werewolf.

Without Derek around, Stiles really felt it sink in that his own survival chances were beginning to dwindle down to single digits.

Scott didn't have a teacher, and now with Allison looking like she had dumped his werewolfy ass, Stiles had no idea if his therapy would even work anylonger.

There was the bigger problem circling the mysterious text message Allison had received, supposedly from Scott. Werewolves, at least to Stiles' better knowledge did not have the thumb and finger mobility needed to push the little buttons on his phone. Which most likely meant someone else, someone human..or at least wearing human skin was working with the alpha. It was becoming a spiraling conspiracy.

Derek was dead, and Stiles knew he'd probably be next in Scott's 'pack' to face the reaper.

Stiles glanced down at his pocket as his cellphone began to buzz, a signal he had received a text message.

_'do u thnk allison wll 4give me?- McHall_

Stiles scowled and felt his own anger rising, they could all be killed by a psycho giant mythological wild dog and _almost just had been_ and Scott felt the need just hours later to borrow his mothers phone to txt Stiles some whiny message about his not-so-much-anymore girlfriend? He tossed the phone as hard as he could against the other wall.

Exhaust set in faster than it had minutes earlier, bundled with anger and shock. Stiles rose, slowly and uneasily as his legs kind of felt like really painful jelly, but it was still possible to bridge the few steps to his bed.

Derek was dead.

Stiles curled in upon himself, pretending as though he could still smell the other mans scent lingering on his bed without the need of wolf like senses.

'I'm tired of seeing people die in front of me...'

Derek _is_ dead.

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><p>AN; So I'm continuing this?

Just saying though, I do not actually think Derek is dead. But I'm sure Stiles does. Hence why this reeks of angst. I was going to have it actually be angstier XD expanding on why Stiles was so against even the chance of his father getting hurt, and some of his issues with Jackson and growing problems with Scott...All of whom I love, but yeah. It's STILES side for a reason. If it was Scott Side or Jackson Side (which I may also write as small spinoffs at some point idk) it'd probably have slightly different takes on things.


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